The Legend of Tarzan: Filling in the gaps
by DaniQ32
Summary: A work in progress of creating some fun filler scenes to tell the story between Tarzan "the wild man" and John Clayton "Earl of Greystoke." And the story of how Jane and Tarzan fell in love.
1. Tarzan comes back for Jane

**This is one of the first scenes I thought of writing after seeing the movie. It's right after Tarzan was injured protecting Jane and then allowed to heal in the village.**

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He was back again. The _wild_ man from the jungle. He seemed to be looking for something. Or someone. Of course he was. He was looking for her. He approached the circle of children where she was sitting giving lessons. His eyes roved over the little crowd, but they didn't come to rest on her. He became more urgent in his search. Scouring the village for the woman that had sat by his bed and talked to him the day before.

Looking up from her lesson, Jane saw him. Her eyes lit up with pleasure briefly before her face became puzzled as she realized he must be looking for her, but hadn't seen her yet. She got up from her place on the ground and made her way over to him. He was still frantically searching. Getting more and more agitated by the moment. As Jane walked up to him he looked right past her. She put a hand on his shoulder to stop him but he pushed her off and kept walking.

"Wait!" she said, reaching for him again. "It's me." He faltered when he heard her voice and she came around to face him. Looking into his eyes, she repeated, "It's me."

He visibly relaxed, but his face became even more puzzled. He looked steadily at her face as if making sure it was her, then looked down at her blue dress in utter confusion.

His head snapped up to her face again when she laughed gently. "I changed clothes. This is a different dress, see?" She rolled up the cuff on one of her sleeves to show her bare wrist. "It's me underneath." He grabbed her hand and examined the wrist and the cloth covering it. He looked as though he was about to examine further how this strange being could so easily change her appearance, but she grabbed his hand with both of hers and led him back to her circle of students who made space for the addition and she continued with her lesson. His eyes remained fixed on her face as she taught as if to burn the image into his mind so that he would always know her and would never lose her again.


	2. Excerpt: The villagers describe Tarzan

"We have a name for the man who lives with the apes. We call him Tarzan. He was believed to be a spirit of the trees. Protecting the animals, defending the jungle. His legend has existed for many years. Our children were taught to fear the spirit, for he was known to show no mercy to men who would venture into his jungle and fail to show the proper respect for the animals there. It is said that his spirit came from the animals themselves. Called forth in a time of need. He understands them. And he holds the power to conquer them as well as the duty to watch over them. Our tribe has always cared for the land around us, the plants and animals we share the world with, but the Legend of Tarzan taught us that just as we have our sentinels who will stand and protect us against any danger, the animals and the trees have their protector as well."

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 **Thanks for reading! I'd like to eventually make this part of a larger scene where Jane is talking about Tarzan with the chief and different ones in the village. For now, though, it's just a quote pulled from what Jane says about the song they're singing around the campfire about "the legend of Tarzan."**

 **Review and follow! Plenty more to come.**


	3. Jane reads to Tarzan

He listened intently, drinking in every word. Usually she had him read, but when the words were too hard and the sentences too complex she would read to him. He couldn't always get her to trade his books for hers when it was time to read, but, he'd found, if it was one her favorites, she was more willing to give in. The book was called "Jane Eyre." It was a story about a young girl that went on a journey. This Jane seemed to be similar to his Jane, but maybe all women named Jane were alike.

He enjoyed reading time so much more when she was doing the reading. Her voice flowed easily over the words, even the hard ones that he still didn't recognize. He'd learned the word "register" for the way her voice was different when she read from when she talked normally. It fascinated him, all that there was to learn about the world she came from. The world across oceans and seas, where people wore dresses and hats and overcoats and rode in things called carriages pulled by horses (a beast similar to the zebra in shape, but larger and apparently with a very different temperament).

When he wasn't thinking only of the way her voice sounded as she read or the way her eyes flitted across the page and widened and narrowed as she read parts that were exciting or tense, he was trying to understand the story. From what he understood (there were still many unfamiliar words) but there seemed to be a man that Jane Eyre was working for and she did not like him. Or maybe she did… It was all a bit confusing, and maybe it was supposed to be. Jane had explained how books tried to describe things that aren't always easily understood and how sometimes you had to look deeper and "read what wasn't there." He wasn't sure he could do that, especially since he wasn't the one reading right now.

There was one word, however, that particularly interested him. It seemed to hold so much and be so important for how small a word it was. Such a short word. He didn't know how to spell it as he hadn't read it for himself yet, but he was sure it was only one syllable. Towards the beginning of the book there were so many words he didn't know that it was lost amongst them. As time went on he had stopped Jane and asked her about this word or that. "Impulsive" meant acting without thinking and "tranquil" meant calm or peaceful and so on. But this word was not used often, it came along unexpectedly and wove itself in so that more often than not he missed it completely.

Now, he decided to listen again, the past few pages had brought the feeling back. The feeling that the word invoked. She spoke about Mr. Rochester, and he wasn't sure why but he thought that Mr. Rochester must be a part of that word, at least for this woman, Jane Eyre.

"...For when I say that I am of his kind," Jane read, "I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must then repeat continually that we are forever sundered; - and yet, while I breathe and think I must love him."

"Jane," he said suddenly, his excitement at catching the word making him forget the way she had told him to address her properly. She looked up slowly from the book, reluctantly, as if it was hard to draw herself away from the pages.

"Yes?"

"That word...what does it mean?" Tarzan asked, eager for every chance to have her explain something unfamiliar to him.

"Which word is that?" she asked, with a little smile and a look in her eyes that said she knew.

"...Love," he tried the word out on his tongue. It even felt special. His lips wrapping around it, no pops or taps but just a gentle, steady vibration first over his tongue then rounding out and coming together with his teeth pressed against his lip.

Her smile grew. "I was curious when you would ask about that. It's a very important word and it's what this whole book is about...and many more." He matched her smile with one of his own, proud of pleasing her.

"First of all, it's a feeling. You know some of the feelings: We _like_ things, we _dislike_ things, there are things that make us _sad_ and things that make us _happy_. To love is the most precious and powerful feeling of all. It can hold all of the other feelings within it. It's when you care more about someone else than you do about yourself. It's what we feel for our family. I love my father, and he loves me. But we can feel it for other people too. For friends that we especially like," she smiled, but then her face changed and her eyes drifted to the horizon. "But then there's another kind of love, even greater, that we can feel when we find someone special. Someone that we wouldn't feel complete without. And that's when love can make you feel anything. Because that person holds your heart. You're happier with them than you've ever been. You see and feel things you didn't before. They make you laugh and smile and dance. But then, they can also make you cry. When you really love someone, them leaving would make you more sad than you even know how to be and you feel broken and lost. That's what these books are about, how love can change you and help you be and feel better, but it can also destroy you. Not everyone is able to trust someone that much. To give someone that much power over them. But if they let it, it can be the best thing they ever do."

She continued looking far away after she finished, her mouth was turned up in a smile again, but her eyes looked almost sad. Tarzan couldn't look away from her face. He was right that this word was more than it seemed to be. It held more than he would have thought possible. Her definitions were often quite long when she was describing a word. But very seldom did they completely change the way he thought about the world. This word: "love" was something he was familiar with. Something he'd seen and felt in the jungle. When his mother held him close after he would wake up from terrible dreams as a child. When lions would wrestle with their cubs in the tall grass, playing as though it were a fight to the death. And now it had a name. Love.

Finally she sighed and returned her gaze to his. Looking into her eyes, he realized that the jungle wasn't the only place he'd experienced this feeling. Jane looked down and continued to read and Tarzan listened to her voice but continued to think about his new word.


	4. Finding 'Love'

Love. He turned the word over in his mind, examining it from every angle like he often used to do with the special stone his mother carried. To love meant to care for someone more than you cared for yourself, Jane had said. He hadn't been exactly sure what that meant, and when he'd asked, Jane had said that when you care for someone you do things for them and you worry about them. You don't want to see them hurt or unhappy. He knew more than anything that he felt that way about his mother. He loved her. He wished he could tell her. But there were other ways to say it, he realized. Ways that he knew. The gorillas expressed that they loved each other every day. They knew how to show someone that they cared for them by doing things for them. They picked the bugs off of their backs. They saved the best fruits for them. They found pretty stones to give to them and they comforted them when they were upset. Tarzan was happy that he could see these things and that he now had a word for them. And he also understood what Jane meant when she said that love was a feeling. Even the humans in the village didn't need to speak the words to say it. The look in the eyes of the women in the village when the men came back from long hunting trips. The way they embraced. Some of the younger women jumping into the arms of the men and holding on as if they'd never let go.

The next few days, as Tarzan moved through the jungle, he saw more and more things that meant 'love.' The way the birds brought food back to their nests for their baby birds, holding it in their throats all the way back to the tree and then opening their beaks to empty them into eager little mouths. The way the lions would butt their heads and rub their shoulders, leaning into one another as though, if the other weren't there, they would simply fall to the ground. Tarzan remembered what Jane had said about trust and how that loving someone gives them power; that they hold your heart. He resolved to ask Jane where your heart was and how you gave it to someone to hold.


	5. Hunters

**Sorry for the delay. I had wanted to write a scene or two to go between the last one and this one, so I was putting off posting. But I guess I'll go ahead and publish for know and if the muse strikes me later, I might insert some filler scenes. Hope you continue to enjoy my take on the new movie.**

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He heard the thwack of the arrow from yards away. It wasn't an unfamiliar sound. There were often natives coming into the jungle to prove themselves to their tribes by bringing home the bodies of dead gorillas or leopards or other dangerous wild animals. He knew it wasn't anyone from the village. Their tribe didn't practice those customs. Tarzan had been gathering fruit with his mother and had climbed some trees a little ways away from her to get some of the thicker, juicier fruits. The sound made him go instantly still as he made use of all of his senses to perceive where the threat was. He heard the shuffling and heavy breathing of the hunters. And then he heard his mother give a huff and heard her body slump to the ground. As instantly as he became still he was back in action. He dropped agilely from the tree, letting gravity do most of the work for him, coming down on the balls of his feet and running before he could feel the sting of his landing.

He was at his mother's side in seconds. He could see the arrow protruding from her back, all thoughts of the hunters abandoned. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into his lap. He cooed and grunted to her, trying to calm her. She didn't need calming, though. She looked up at him with already serene eyes, as though she knew her fate and didn't want to upset him further. He kept cooing and grunting, trying to calm himself. She wrapped her thick fingers behind his neck, looking into his eyes and telling him everything that human words could never express. Not even special, important words like 'love.' He stared back, his eyes echoing hers. His hand pressed against the side of her face and his thumb stroked her cheek. He felt something hot and wet stinging at the back of his eyes. Jane had told him that gorillas couldn't cry, but she was wrong. Just because they didn't spill the salty liquid called 'tears' didn't mean that their eyes didn't pour over with grief. Her breathing became more shallow as she brought her other arm up to show him the smooth, white stone that she always had with her. She offered it to him, wanting him to take it. He reached for it, holding onto the rock but not letting go of her hand. She looked deep into his eyes one more time before she let out another breath and her arms went limp as her eyes rolled slightly back and closed. He still held her tightly, his fist closed around the big stone in a grip that turned his knuckles white. He buried his face in her neck and smelled her, felt her, breathed her in. But instead of smelling her familiar, comforting scent, he smelled the blood coming from her back and instead of feeling _her_ , he felt...nothing.

He heard rustling in the underbrush behind him. He looked up protectively and saw the faces of the hunters.


	6. After

**Sorry these shots are getting less frequent. Being a full-time college student again is really inhibiting my FanFiction writing...**

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He wasn't the same. Not since it had happened. Jane had tried everything to get him to open up again, but nothing was working. He was uninterested in lessons and hardly paid attention to her, but he wouldn't leave. He wouldn't go back into the jungle. There was nothing for him there. Not anymore.

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Some weeks later he had started to take more of an interest in things; eating at meal times, sitting closer to the group when Jane was teaching her students. He even ventured off one day to return with some of the special fruits he liked to get for the villagers. Finally, one day, he approached Jane with a solemn look on his face.

"Jane," he said, having completely abandoned the formal address she'd taught him about. Nobody else in the village called her 'Miss Porter.' Nobody else had surnames. "Will you come with me? I want to show you something."

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He guided Jane through the jungle. Helping her navigate the thick undergrowth and climb over fallen trees. She made her own way pretty well, but he still liked to help her, holding bushes and low-hanging branches out of the way so her long dresses wouldn't snag. They eventually broke through to a small clearing and he looked up at the great tree with the little shack at the top. She followed his gaze and gasped softly when she saw the battered, rickety structure high in the branches.

"I found this a long time ago. I didn't know what it was, but there a things inside that I might understand better now."

He walked over to the base of the tree where rough ladder-like grooves had been cut into the huge trunk. He moved aside to let her climb first, wanting to be below her should she lose her footing. They made their way up to the little house, the tree was sturdy but still the climb was difficult. They came up through a hole in the floor and they were inside a small, dirty room that hardly resembled any liveable space. Nearly everything was torn apart or broken. A makeshift hammock dangled from one tattered rope, the torn and stained cloth lying trampled on the floor. There were bits of broken crates scattered around the room, perhaps at one time serving as tables or stools. There were muddy tracks everywhere; mostly from birds but also lots of primates, huge gorilla footprints and tiny monkey tracks. And just visible among all the other crisscrossing prints, were the distinct paw shapes of a big cat.

"What is this place?" Jane breathed, looking around the ransacked treehouse. "Who lived here?" She walked over to the one thing in the room that looked to be mostly in tact, a large chest with a metal fastening and lock that probably kept it from being busted open and the contents torn apart like everything else in the shack. She knelt to examine the keyhole, trying the latch. "We need to find the key," she said. She looked up and saw Tarzan crouching next to one of the overturned crates, looking around the small room with a solemn look.

"There were humans here," he said, "weren't there?" his voice was small and he looked around again at the broken and disheveled remains of these people's lives.

"I believe so," she replied, rising from beside the trunk, she also looked around. "Whoever they were, they didn't have much. They certainly weren't part of a safari. Definitely didn't have the necessary supplies… As though they weren't meant to be here," she was speaking quietly, mostly to herself, thinking aloud in fragments.

She then saw a little lump in the corner behind one of the broken crates. There was hardly any fabric or possessions left in the little hut. Everything having been stripped bare by curious primates, she assumed. But here, wedged under a broken floorboard, mostly hidden by the crate and out of sight in the very corner of the room, was a little leather pouch. She lifted the crate and tried to grab the pouch but it wouldn't budge.

"Tarzan," she looked over her shoulder at him. "Will you help me?" He came over to see what she was trying to do. He knelt down and pulled roughly on the broken floorboard, tearing it loose. Grabbing it, Jane sat back on her heels to examine the little purse. She pulled the drawstring to open it and turned it over into her hand. Tarzan sat beside her, as intrigued as she was. She found a spool of old, grimy thread, a case of rusty needles, a very small, dainty pocket knife, some other broken odds and ends and a small locket. Carefully putting the rest of the contents in her lap, she looked closer at the little tarnished locket. Turning it over she saw the initials J.C. She pushed on the clasp and, after prying for a moment with her nails, the locket opened.

"What is it?" Tarzan asked, incredibly curious about these humans that had apparently existed in this jungle not so far from where he grew up. He wondered why he'd never seen them, but it had obviously been a long time since they were here.

"It's a locket," Jane whispered, peering closely inside. "And I think it's yours." She turned it toward him to show him the miniatures inside. Tarzan carefully grasped it between his fingers, bringing the locket close to see the tiny pictures. On the left side there was a picture of a man and a woman sitting close to one another. The man wore a suit and a mustache but he was still the spitting image of Tarzan. The woman was in an elegant white lace gown and her hair had pearls nestled into the waves. Tarzan's breath caught as she looked from her face to the image on the other side of a tiny baby. The human infant was looking to the left and smiling as if happy at the sight of his parents.

"Who?" Tarzan said, but only got the one word out. He couldn't get the right words to come to mind. What did he want to say? How did he ask what he wanted to ask? How did he describe what he was feeling as he knelt in this beaten shack in the top of a tree in a jungle in Africa looking at pictures of a little human family that Jane said was his when he'd only just discovered what humans were a few months ago.

"It's all right," Jane assured him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll find out." She moved to put the other contents back into the leather pouch, pausing when she saw what she had missed before. Among the remnants of the tiny purse, was a key. She carefully placed the other items back into the bag and pulled the string. Then she got up and went back over to the trunk with the key in hand. Tarzan followed. She pushed the key into the rusted, weather worn lock and tried to turn. Like everything else it was old and didn't want to move at first. But carefully she turned harder and harder until the key turned and she heard a hard, reluctant _click_. She pushed the fastener out of the way and lifted the lid resting it against the wall, not trusting the hinges.

"It's a trunk," Jane explained, sensing Tarzan's question before he asked. "Like father and I have back at the village. It's where people keep their belongings when they're traveling." She looked inside the trunk and saw what was left of the family's worldly possessions. There was a thin, faded quilt that she could tell was once beautiful. Underneath the quilt were a few pairs of trousers and a petticoat. At the bottom of the trunk she found books. There were also a few candlesticks, a pocketwatch, some blue baby booties and a pearl necklace. She turned her attention to the books, knowing that they were their best chance of finding out something about the people who ended up here, in this wild and ruthless jungle with hardly any provisions or supplies. She picked up the first book. It was an informational text about the various teas of South India, the second was a novel by Jane Austen, the third detailed the parts of a ship and how to maintain large ocean vessels. The final three were journals.


End file.
